Who'd Want Me for a Flatmate?
by Vintage Tea Party
Summary: Living with a high functioning sociopath consulting detective isn't easy. Things at 221B are often funny, sometimes compromising, but never dull. A series of domestic one shots. Just friendship.


**A/N: This story will be a collection of one shots and will be updated as they come to me. I do not know how frequent that will be since humor is not my typical MO. I am open to suggestions anyone might have. I can't make promises but I'll see if my muse can make it happen. **

This was all John's fault.

Sherlock had felt it coming on all day long. It may have taken a while for him to identify what was going on but once he did he had been in firm denial. He tried to refuse to let this happen to him. But now, as he sat in the cab on the way home, after an entire day of fighting it he knew that he could deny it no longer.

He had a mood. And he was going to cry.

If it weren't for John he wouldn't even have the knowledge of what was going on and he certainly wouldn't know of this way of dealing with it.

It happened a few weeks ago. Sherlock had known that there was something wrong with John all day long. He hadn't seemed to be excited to be going out on their case like he normally would. He seemed to just be indifferent about everything. He had been out of it all day. His mind had seemed to be everywhere but the crime scene and he had been withdrawn. He hadn't said much of anything all day and had contributed very little to the work. He also seemed usually angry and touchy. Sherlock would have left him at home if he had known John would be pretty much useless.

When they had arrived back at the flat that evening, John had puttered around aimlessly for a few minutes before taking to the bathroom where he stayed for quite some time.

Sherlock was content to leave him to himself but as the time drug on he began to wonder if John was alright. Maybe he was ill. He decided he needed to investigate.

Sherlock burst through the bathroom door and was surprised to find John sitting on the bathroom floor, his back against the wall his head in his hands. He jumped at the loud, unexpected, and rude intrusion and quickly turned the other way away from Sherlock. He cursed "Sherlock! How many times do I have to tell you not to come in here when I'm in here?"

There were many unusual things here which Sherlock took note of. The first point was that John cursed at him. John didn't do that often; only when he was his most frustrated. The second point was that, even though anger was the most dominant emotion in his voice there was also something else there, changing his tone. The third and most usual of points was that John was sitting on the floor. What could he possibly be doing in here?

"You could have locked the door," Sherlock replied calmly.

This only seemed to increase the anger in John's voice though he still did not turn and look at Sherlock. "No, I couldn't. _You_ broke it, remember? You could have knocked for once. Then you would have known I was in here."

"What are you doing?"

"That is none of your business."

"Well, its obvious that you are not attending to any of the customary needs that this room is used for since you are currently not using the toilet, bath, or sink..."

"You know people usually don't have to explain themselves when they go into a bathroom. It's usually assumed by NORMAL people that it's private business. And NORMAL people don't usually ask questions."

"But-"

"Get out!"

"John, what is wrong with you?" Sherlock was starting to get a little annoyed at John's attitude and his use of the word 'normal', clearly implying that Sherlock was not.

Finally, John finally turned around and glared at Sherlock. "I said GET OUT! And I meant NOW"

Sherlock took note of the red face and bloodshot eyes. Though John was angry that was not the cause for that. He'd seen John angry many times before and this wasn't what it looked like. Even if he didn't know well what John looked like when he was angry, these signs were easy to deduce. John had been crying.

"Are you crying?" Sherlock asked. He already knew the answer of course but he did not know what the cause might be.

"Get out," John said now getting up off the ground and coming quickly at Sherlock. He grabbed Sherlock, quite forcibly by the arm and ushered him out of the bathroom. He slammed the door in Sherlock's face. "And stay out!" he added. "I swear if you come in here again, I will hurt you. And that's not an empty threat. But if you think it is, by all means,_ try it_."

Sherlock blinked quickly a few times, staring at the door which was a mere inch away from having slammed literally in his face. There were not many times when this was the case but this was one of those times when Sherlock knew he needed to not say a word. John was not lying when he said he would hurt Sherlock. John was very angry and apparently sad neither of which Sherlock could explain. He had known that John was upset; all day he had been acting strangely but this was getting out of hand. Sherlock was determined to get at the bottom of it.

It was quite some time later that John had finally emerged from the bathroom and had joined Sherlock in the living room. He sat down in his chair across from where Sherlock was seated in his calmly reading a book. Sherlock only glanced up at him without saying a word. John kept his head down as he made his way to his chair and sat down taking the paper and looking at it. He appeared to not be as agitated but his eyes and face were still red, clear signs that he _had _been crying.

Sherlock was mentally deciding how long he needed to wait before it was acceptable to start asking his questions but John was the first one to speak. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked up and at John. "I didn't mean to get so upset at you," John continued.

"I'm sure I deserved it," Sherlock replied though it was clear in his voice he didn't think so and was only saying it because he thought it was what he should say.

"Well…you shouldn't have barged into the bathroom when I was in there but I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you about it."

"What are you so upset about?" Sherlock finally asked honestly.

"Nothing," John said unconvincingly with shrug of his shoulders.

"John," Sherlock said giving John a knowing look. "You have been acting strangely all day and you were crying."

John let out a sigh. "I know," he admitted.

"But why?"

John was not ashamed to admit that he cried. When something really bad or really sad happened he was not ashamed to admit that he sometimes cried. In fact, he thought it was laughable when a man claimed he never cried. It was just a lie. But John was embarrassed to admit that he had been crying for really no reason at all.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Yeah. I just did." John said uncomfortably.

"You were crying…without a reason?" Sherlock clarified.

"Yeah, I guess so," John said squirming in his chair.

"But how can you cry when you don't have a reason?"

"Sherlock, why do we even have to talk about this?"

"I'm just curious."

"Its…Its just…I don't know. I was in a mood. I cried. It helped. You know?"

Sherlock looked completely dumbfounded. This was a completely new concept to him.

"A mood?"

"Yeah, you know. Sometimes you get in a mood and for some reason you just get upset. There's no reason for it you just get sad and then everything starts to bother you more than it normally would."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do."

"No, I don't," Sherlock insisted defensively.

"Yes, you do," John insisted back. "I've seen you in _plenty _of moods."

"John, I do not get _moods_," he said the last word distastefully. "I have emotions but I am always in control of them and they always have a reason."

"Hah!" John laughed. "That's funny."

"Why is that so funny?" Sherlock said throwing his book aside and leaning forward in his chair challenging John.

"Because that's not true! How many times have you come through this flat throwing things around and blowing things up all day without so much as a word as to why?"

"Those are experiments."

"Sure. Sure. How convenient. Something is weird or out of the ordinary just say it was an experiment. I should do that. Yeah, I was crying because it was an 'experiment'" he said the last word with explicit air quotes.

"Well, then it was a success."

"Excuse me?"

"The results are quite obvious. You said the crying helped but you're still upset so it obviously didn't help."

"Actually it did help. I _was _feeling better. That was until I started talking to you. _That _is what is not helping."

"You don't need to blame me just because you are letting your emotions get the better of you. Its not my fault you're letting yourself become out of control."

"Out of control?" John said clearly insulted. "I am not out of control."

"No? You've been sulking around all day. You then _cry _for no reason at all. You then become unreasonably angry with me. And what was it all for? You can't even say. I say the evidence is clear enough, even for you," he said sitting back in his chair and picking his book back up.

"Unreasonably angry? With everything I put up with when it comes to you I deserve to get a little angry with you. I should be given a medal for how well I handle you and your behavior. I think it would do you some good to cry once in a while. Maybe our flat wouldn't have so suffer so much damage.

"I don't need to cry. I can rise above my emotions. I control them; they do not control me."

"I don't have to explain myself to you. One day you're going to get a mood and when you do you're going to feel like crying. Then you'll understand."

"I wouldn't hold my breath. I actually have an amount of restraint and refuse to let my emotions get the better of me."

John only gave a frustrated noise in response and got up and left the room.

That incident had been several weeks ago and Sherlock had not given it any thought since then. Sherlock was relieved that John had been back to his normal self the next day and that had been the end of it.

Or so he thought until today.

Sherlock had gotten up that day and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He and John didn't have anything on their agenda yet for the day so Sherlock had gotten up leisurely and made his way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Thinking back now, he realized that having no case or work on his agenda might have been the start of the trouble. Idleness always had been one of his greatest enemies. But at the time he hadn't thought anything of it.

He made his tea and went to the refrigerator to get the milk and found that there was none. That was the first that he had felt the first red hot flame of frustration flare up in his heart. "John!" he cried out angrily. "We're out of milk."

"So?" John called out from his chair in the living room by the fire.

Sherlock gave the refrigerator door a firm shove shut and walked to the kitchen entrance, tea cup still in hand. "So, what am I going to do about my tea?"

John turned around and looked at Sherlock. "I don't know," he said with a shrug and turned back to the paper he was reading.

The flame was getting brighter. "Why don't you go get some milk?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't feel like it Sherlock. And its not my sole responsibility to make sure we have some. You use it just as much as I do and you should have to get it just as often as I do."

Sherlock looked down at his cup of tea which was getting colder and colder by the minute. "Well, what are you going to do about your tea?" hoping he had found a loophole.

"I made coffee."

"John-"

"Sherlock," John said turning around and facing Sherlock again. "If you want milk, _you_ go down to the shop on the corner. It's not that big of a deal."

That was when Sherlock first felt it. It was a darkness hovering close by. It was weight upon shoulders. It was a heaviness building inside of him that made him feel hopeless and indifferent and as if this were the worse thing that could possibly happen to him today. He was use to darkness; he knew well the overwhelming depression that could consume. But this was not that. This was much more subdued but still troubling.

"No," he said with a huff as he trudged back into the kitchen and threw the cup into the sink where it clashed loudly against the other dishes. He didn't feel like going out to the shop. That was the last thing he felt like doing right now. He really didn't feel like doing much of anything except drinking his tea but he could not drink it without milk. Obviously. It was a lose lose situation.

He walked slowly back into the living room and came to stand by the window. "What's your problem?" John asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock nearly barked out. He looked out over the street where it was raining. Not a heavy rain but a grey drizzly rain. It was one of those rains that was not quickly over but would settle in and last all day.

_Great_, he thought to himself. Why did it always have to rain so much? Why couldn't they just get some sunshine? Why did this stupid city have to be so grey and wet all of the time?

John's question started to play around in his head. What _was _his problem? Rain never bothered him. Well, only when it washed evidence away but that wasn't the case here. So why was it getting under his skin so much now? He felt like the darkness of the day was seeping into his skin. He just felt sad, an unrecognizable sadness. He couldn't identify it or explain it.

That was when he considered it for the first time. Could this be a mood? Surely not, he thought shaking it off. And yet he couldn't help but think back to that conversation he had with John about his mood. He had described it as getting upset and sad for no reason and then everything starts to bother you more normally it would. Could that possibly be what was happening to him?

No, he was not getting upset for no reason. That was what normal people did. That's what emotional people did. No, he had a reason to be upset. He had no case as of right now. That in itself was enough to be upset about. A day of idleness was a tragedy in his book. Then he had been deprived of his tea. No British person could argue with the seriousness of that. John was being stupid. And then the rain…well that wasn't a reason. But even as he tried to reason and explain it all he knew the argument was falling flat, even inside his own head.

He cursed at John in his head. If John hadn't explained his mood to Sherlock then Sherlock wouldn't even be considering that he was plagued with the same thing. This was his fault. But even if Sherlock was experiencing a mood, which he highly doubted at this point, he would handle it. Unlike John, he wouldn't allow his emotions to get the better of him. They weren't in control. He had reason on his side. And he certainly wouldn't cry.

"Sherlock."

The sound of John's voice broke through Sherlock's thoughts taking him surprise. "Huh? What?" he said, his voicing coming out kind of squeaky, as he turned to look at John.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes of course," he said quickly. A little too quickly he realized.

"Are you sure?" John said with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't buying it.

"Yes. Why?"

"You just seem like you're in a bad mood."

_Mood. _There was that ugly word again. "Well I'm not!" he said pulling his dressing gown around himself tighter and plopping down on the couch.

"Of course you're not," John said unconvinced but turning back to his paper.

Sherlock's feelings only got worse as the rest of the morning passed. He was dying for a case, something to do. He tried to busy himself with some activity but he couldn't focus on anything. He'd start something only to realize that he didn't want to be doing that. It was like he wanted to do something but he didn't want to do anything at the same time.

John watched endless, annoying telly all morning long. Finally, in frustration Sherlock ended up back on the couch in a ball, not really feeling like doing anything else. There was a heaviness inside of his chest that he was trying hard to push away but the harder he pushed at it the stronger it got. _You're going to cry_, a voice taunted in his head.

"No," he said angrily to the voice.

"What?" John asked.

"I wasn't talking to you," Sherlock said.

"Okkkkaaay," John said drawing the word out, turning back to the telly. He was not at all a stranger to Sherlock having conversations with himself.

When the phone call from Lestrade came, John was instantly relieved. He had some evidence that he wanted Sherlock to come and take a look at. John was sure that Sherlock just needed some work to start feeling better again. Sherlock was surprised that he didn't instantly feel the same way. He had wanted a case all day but now that he had something he felt like he didn't want to go.

But he was not going to let that stop him. He didn't have mood; everything was fine. So he was going to go to work, just like normal.

Work, however, had not helped. Sherlock had examined the evidence in the lab that Lestrade had requested. Sherlock had thought he had figured it out only to be proven wrong and he wasn't sure where to go on from there. That hadn't made him feel any better. Then Anderson had made some snide comment like usual but Sherlock was alarmed to realize that it had bothered him.

This was the moment that Sherlock realized he could deny the facts no longer. If something Anderson said could bother him then something was seriously wrong with him. There was no logical reason to explain that except that he must be having a mood. He had so wanted to deny the fact but he realized now that by denying it, he was allowing it to get out of hand.

_Makes you want to cry, doesn't it? _the voice taunted. He swatted away at it with a grunt.

John noticed Sherlock's face turn up in pain when they were alone walking out to catch a cab. "Sherlock," he said looking alarmed, "Are you going to _cry_?" he asked in disbelief.

"No," Sherlock said but even he was unsure as he said it. This mood was out of hand and he really just wanted it over with. He had now admitted it and was now willing to do what he needed to be rid of it.

John had said that crying had helped his mood. Could it help his as well? Sherlock could not believe he was even considering this. What had his life come to?

And yet, John cried. Sherlock had always seen crying as a weakness. He always figured that it was how people dealt with their sadness when they couldn't control their emotions. Despite the fact that Sherlock had given him a hard time and accused him of having no control over his emotions, John was the strongest man that Sherlock knew. If he cried then maybe Sherlock should reconsider his understanding. He had indulged in this coping mechanism. Maybe Sherlock shouldn't fight it after all.

"Don't feel too bad about the case. I'm sure it will come to you. Probably as soon as we get home you will have figured it all out. Until then, you want to stop and get a bite to eat? You can choose," John said in a cheerful tone.

"No, I really just feel like going home." Now that he had decided what he needed to do he desperately felt the need to get home where he could be alone.

As soon as the cab had arrived at their flat Sherlock walked quickly, but not too quickly as to attract attention to himself, up the stairs as John followed closely behind. Even though Sherlock thought he was acting normally he still seemed to catch John's attention. "Hey Sherlock…what's the rush?"

Sherlock ignored him, as he unlocked the door and walked quickly into the flat, not bothering to stop and take his coat off and making his way straight to the bathroom. He swiftly closed the door and grabbed the sides of the sink with both of his hands and looked down for a second before looking at himself in the mirror at himself. His respirations were increasing and there was an excess of moisture in his eyes. Dread filled him as he realized that this was actually going to happen.

There was a knock on the door. An unusually large amount of frustration filled him at the sound of it. Why did John always have to get in his business? Why couldn't he ever just leave Sherlock alone? It did bother Sherlock at times but at the moment it made him feel like lashing out.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked.

He took a deep breath trying to calm himself before he responded. "I'm fine," he replied but he cringed at the sound of it. Now his voice was being affected. It made a weird cracking noise. He felt strangled as he realized the tears were in his throat. These things were going to kill him. He now felt that their releasing was necessary and imminent.

"Are you sure?" John asked uncertainly.

Sherlock hesitated to open his mouth since he could apparently trust his voice no more. "Yes! Go away," he managed to reply in a somewhat more composed voice.

He worried that John would press him but he did not. He was relieved when he heard John move away from the door and start rattling around the rest of the flat. Sherlock sat down on the side of the bathtub and was glad to finally be alone.

Sherlock wondered how he was supposed to go about this. It was not often that he allowed himself to fully experience his emotions and he wasn't exactly sure how to go about releasing them. The strange sense of weight lying in his chest and the unidentifiable sadness; that was the problem. That was what needed to be dealt with and got rid of. But how to release it?

A strange and loud sound, what he would indentify as a sob, sprung from his mouth. He quickly covered his mouth, hoping that it did not really sound as loud as it had sounded to him. He noticed that the production of tears increased with it. Curious. He allowed himself to release a few more sounds once he had buried his face into his coat to muffle the sound and found that the tears did increase so much that they were about to come out of his eyes.

And he found that it felt good. Which was good because once he started he couldn't stop. He would be alarmed by this fact if he didn't feel so good. All the pressure he had felt building inside of him all day was being freed. It was no longer building in his chest and mind; it was going away. His body started to shake with the sobs and the tears started to run down his face but he found he did not mind. There was something very therapeutic about it.

As it continued on he began to wonder how long it was normal to cry. When did a person know they were done? He decided to just go with it as long as it went on and see what happened. It went on for longer than he would have expected but eventually he found that the sobs stopped and were replaced but a desperate need to breathe. He took in several deep breaths which felt exceptionally good now that he felt light on the inside instead of weighed down and filled up.

The tears also stopped and he sat up a little realizing that the mood had seemed to pass. He got up and wiped his face off and blowing his nose. He did not feel as sad or agitated. But he did feel a little disgusted with himself.

Sherlock looked in the mirror and sighed in frustration at himself. He had let these emotions get the better of him. The bloodshot eyes and red face were clear evidence of what he had been doing. It was so obvious even John with his rudimentary skills could deduce that much. He was disgusted enough that he had given into this "mood" and had actually cried for no apparent reason really; he didn't relish the thought that John would draw attention to it.

He took a deep breath before bracing himself to go out. He didn't want to admit it but he actually did feel better. The weight he had seemed to be feeling in his chest had seemed to lift from the release of tears. It made no sense, the whole of it, so he was hesitant to say that it had actually seemed to be a cure. But there was no denying how he felt, and he did feel better. He shook his head and cursed under his breath. John was right. He hated admitting that John was right once again.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen where John was busy making a pot of tea. Sherlock willed himself to look calm and collected, which was surprisingly much easier to do than it had been all day long, as John turned around to notice his entrance into the room. John just looked at Sherlock for a moment as a half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Sherlock felt like squirming under John's scrutiny and deducing. _Here it comes_, he thought. If he was being fair he knew he deserved it. He had given John a hard time for crying. He had said he was out of control and let his emotions get the better of him and now he had done the exact same thing. Now he was going to get it back in return.

"Feels better doesn't it?" John asked with a knowing smile.

He knew! Oh, this _was_ going to be terrible. "I...uh..."Sherlock started trying to come up with some way out of explaining these awful emotions and his inability to manage and conquer them.

"Come on, the tea is ready," he said gesturing toward the pot and turned to get two mugs out of the cupboard. "And I got some more milk."

A puzzled expression covered Sherlock's face as he watched John. Was that it? That was all he was going to say? Was John really not going to give him a hard time? John turned back and held out a cup of tea to Sherlock who still hadn't managed to say anything. John smiled and made his way into the living room.

John wasn't going to give him a hard time. He wasn't going to make fun of or tease him. He wasn't even going draw attention to the incident or painfully try and make him talk about it. Sherlock already knew it but it occurred to him once again as he stared down at the tea in his hands; John Watson was a much better man than himself. And that was the only thing to make him smile all day long.


End file.
